birds of a feather
by FloraIrmaTylee
Summary: Duchess Swan values punctuality, decorum, and decency. In her eyes, Sparrow Hood believes in tardiness, impropriety, and debauchery. Though, perhaps, she only considers this because she is now forced to work in his general vicinity. And play nice. Sparrow/Duchess, modern!au.
1. Chapter 1

**I started getting more into EAH lately, and so, I started to really ship Sparchess. Like, really ship Sparchess. (and also Apple/Darling but that's another story noIhaven'tbeenprocrastinatingbywritingapplingficstoo). So, basically, I just knew I had to write an aged-up summer au, modern day of course, for the two of them. But, on to warnings: there is drinking, (a lot of it) insinuations, LOTS of bad language (I aged these characters up, so they're all legal drinking age, at least twenty-one and can therefore cuss by default I suppose) and also some sort of crack ships? There are brief,** _ **brief**_ **mentions of Raven/Apple, Bunny/Faybelle, Daring/Apple (all as past-tense, broken up pairs) and mentions of Faybelle/Poppy, Raven/Dexter, Daring/Lizzie, Apple/Darling, Bunny/Alistair, Briar/Hopper, and obviously Sparrow/Duchess. I mean, why else would this be a Sparchess fic. But it's mainly Sparchess oriented and all the other pairings only show up in like a few sentences, so you can skip over them, no biggie.**

 **(also forgive me I don't know the logistics of working in retail)**

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** Duchess Swan values punctuality, decorum, and decency. In her eyes, Sparrow Hood believes in tardiness, impropriety, and debauchery. Though, perhaps, she only considers this because she is now forced to work in his general vicinity. And play nice.

"Yo, Duchess. Whatdya think about Guitar Hero?" Sparrow asks, already ( _childishly_ ) playing around with the demo version of the aforementioned video game and screeching out guitar noises with his mouth in a way that was neither dignified or appealing.

Duchess wrinkles her nose. "I've never played." Silently, she adds that now she never intends to. Standing behind the cash register/help desk of the electronics section of Target is not the way to spend her summer vacation, but it's the only job she was able to get, and it was still part-time considering the only other job she had was as a teaching assistant in her favorite ballet studio, and as all college students, she has textbooks to buy.

"Bummer," Sparrow responds, setting the plastic guitar replica in its placeholder. "You should try it. One of the best video games ever."

"Sounds enchanting," Duchess says, not bothering to hide the way sarcasm coats her words, because obviously _pretending_ to play a guitar equaled a spot in a fictional or perhaps simply hypothetical 'best video games ever' list.

Sparrow studies Duchess and she pretends not to notice, instead smoothing down the front of the horrible red collared Target standard shirt, and the equally hideous khaki pants. Truly, she can't wait until she can get changed into a leotard and a tutu and spend her evening dancing, but her Target shift doesn't end until two o' clock, and it's barely nine in the morning, so. She has no choice but to put up with her coworker and she barely even knows him besides the fact that she thinks his goatee is stupid and the earring in his ear makes him look like a punk.

"Your hair's a weird color," Sparrow notices.

Duchess grits her teeth and resolves that she won't loose her job on her very first day, not to mention that her hair is _not_ a weird color and that the mixture of hues were very fashionable. "You should stock the shelves with more copies of Black Ops, don't you think?"

"I'm pretty sure we have enough," Sparrow says. "Why? You tryin' to get rid of me?"

 _That's the idea_. "Of course not," Duchess lies, smoothly, pasting a fake wide smile on her face. "I just think it's counterproductive, to have two of us up by the front all the time. Maybe you should mill around and help the customers." _And leave me alone._

"There's not really any customers around here." Sparrow settles himself comfortably against the counter. "So what are you up to lately?"

Duchess eyes him and can't decide if he's being friendly or simply being annoying, but one thing is certain: they're not _friends_ , and he's no right to chitchat like they are. "Nothing that concerns you."

"Okay, ouch. I'm going pretend you didn't say that because I'm a very relaxed person and I'm also very forgiving."

"Right." Duchess rolls her eyes and checks her manicure for what feels like the hundredth time in an hour, having nobody to deal with and subpar company to converse with.

"Got plans later?" Sparrow leans closer to Duchess, and she comes to the conclusion that the fedora on his head is tacky and that redheaded boys are not her type.

"Not that it's your business, but I do," Duchess stiffly replies.

"Oh, yeah. I can tell. Someone named Justine is blowing up your phone with lots of text messages."

Duchess's eyes shoot open wide with attention. "What? How do you know that?"

"I've got your phone, duh." Sparrow waves Duchess's familiar lavender phone case in the air, a tiny swan charm dangling from its braided lanyard of black and white twine, and he makes a big show of unlocking it. "This phone password's really predictable, you know that? Who's this Daring guy? Why do you have a photo album of his pictures?"

"Give me that!" Angrily, Duchess makes a swipe for her phone, but Sparrow keeps it infuriatingly out of her reach. "That is _not_ funny, give it back!"

"I would, Princess- but you're too slow," Sparrow taunts, letting Duchess grab at his arms in an attempt to retrieve her stolen item, and she huffs, boiling with rage, her ponytail threatening to slip out of its holder with all the inhibited movement, which is bad news for a dancer ordinarily anyway.

"Would you just-!" Upset, Duchess hops on her tiptoes and manages to knock over his hideous hat, but he ducks out of her reach and hides behind the Guitar Hero demo game.

"Play ya for it," Sparrow offers, holding out the phone on his palm.

"I will not," Duchess snaps, "Because we are _on the job_."

"There's no one here," Sparrow shrugs, picking up his fallen fedora and putting it back on his head.

"Our _manager_ is here," Duchess says, eyebrows raised high in annoyance. "I refuse to take any part in your... _slacking_. You may think that playing around is fine and dandy but I am a professional employee and I demand that you return my phone."

"Yeesh, Princess, that hurts. Do you kiss your boyfriend _Daring_ with that mouth?" Sparrow grins but obligatorily places Duchess's phone onto the countertop by the register.

Duchess's cheeks color pink and it's on the tip of her tongue to say that _he's not her boyfriend_ but she also likes that someone _thinks_ he is so she only replies, "I don't need to tell you anything," and she scoops up her phone and tucks it into her back pocket, also idly wondering how Sparrow got her phone in the first place but chalking it up to the fact that he must be an experienced criminal because all boys who wear earrings must be.

"Alright, if you say so. Who's that girl that's always in your selfies? She's hot."

Duchess frowns, because Lizzie Hearts is the farthest from _hot_ that there is. Also, Lizzie only ends up in her selfies (the selfies premeditated and sent to Daring!) because they're roommates and she's always loitering in the background. Not to mention bathroom selfies are _so_ last year and she needs to seem trendy, hence why she'll never go into the only place Lizzie won't venture into when Duchess is in there. But, back to Lizzie- _not_ hot. She had the oddest birthmark around her eye in the shape of a heart which makes her look weird, in Duchess's opinion, but definitely not _hot_.

"My roommate," Duchess answers, because that's a harmless question but she's also hoping that it'll shut up Sparrow. "If you don't mind, maybe you could restock on Black Ops."

"I'm pretty sure that there's still enough copies of Black Ops, Princess."

Through gritted teeth, Duchess manages, "Then maybe we can switch positions. You man the register, I'll finish restocking the shelves."

"If it makes you happy, _your highness_." Sparrow pulls off his hat and takes a sweeping bow. Duchess wonders if she can get fired for chucking a copy of Black Ops at his stupid head.

That's how Duchess Swan starts to resent Target and it's large red sign and the obnoxious plaster dog with the target mark around its eye because then that reminds her of Lizzie's birthmark and by extension Sparrow Hood and honestly Target in general has never been her favorite store.

Duchess still fumes as she goes to the dance studio, ballet shoes hitting the pavement with more force than necessary.

"Oh, you're here!" Justine Dancer is always super sweet and kind and has eleven sisters which must be a drag, but she always takes the time to compliment Duchess and give her big smiles which Duchess doesn't really appreciate.

"On _time_ ," Duchess sniffs, crossing her arms lest Justine hint that she'd been expectantly awaiting Duchess to arrive because she was _late_.

"Of course, the kids have been waiting for you!" Justine smiles.

Duchess's other part-time job is teaching ballet to five-year-olds, and while she's never liked children, she has to admit that this job is much preferable to the Target one. That doesn't mean that it's a walk in the park, though- she'll always have at least one kid who'll wet their pants and one who'll cry for their mommy and at least one or two little boys that have little sisters in the class as well who've been signed up by parents that don't give a fuck about gender roles but then those little boys get whiny and huffy and don't understand why they have to _dance with girls_ and so Duchess then always has a momentary lapse in judgement where she wishes that Justine were the main instructor and not the teaching assistant.

Then, the actual teaching. Kids don't remember terms like _pointe_ or _pirouette_ or even understand what _second position_ is, and Duchess physically grimaces when she has to tell them, "Stick out your toes. _Point_ your toes. No, not like that-"

And Justine has to be lovingly patient because she's that much of a _nice person_ and she'll offer helpful little suggestions and actually remember the names of those dumb kids. "Wow, Lisa, did you remember that from last week? You're so smart! Here, Emily, honey, you need to hold your arm out like this!"

It's exhausting. Were Duchess to think like Justine, she'd probably call it _rewarding_. But, Duchess loves dancing. She does. It's her favorite pastime. Teaching other people dancing, however...she's _very_ happy when her phone goes off in a series of chimes marking the end of forty-five minutes and then, _then_ Duchess can escape and go home to her apartment, maybe making a detour beforehand to visit her best friend Faybelle.

Faybelle works at a coffee shop named Hocus Latte and before the day is done she'll usually be scowling at all the customers. But that's Faybelle.

" _Finally_ ," Faybelle gripes when she sees Duchess walk around the corner, changed into her street clothes and holding her ballet flats in her hand. "I thought you were dead or something." Uncrossing her arms and straightening from her position where she'd been leaning against the wall outside the coffee shop, Faybelle then offers Duchess a capped coffee cup.

"White chocolate iced cappuccino?" Duchess questions, taking the cup.

"Like you even have to _ask_ ," Faybelle scoffs, and the two set off together towards their apartment building. If only Duchess would be able to room with her friend- but Faybelle has another roommate already, some girl she's been stringing along but isn't actually in a relationship with. Faybelle, probably thinking the same thing, is already making faces as their building looms into sight.

"Same time tomorrow?" Duchess wishes that she could spend more time with her best friend, but she knows that she has laundry to do and Faybelle probably already has plans.

"Nah. I'm getting out early so I'll just walk to the studio instead." Squinting and fixing the employee-standard Hocus Latte brand baseball cap on her head, Faybelle pushes open the door to the apartment lobby. "Am I going to see you at Briar Beauty's party tonight?"

"Briar's having _another_ party?" Duchess echoes, disappointed. "No, I've got laundry to do, and a dance routine to go over, not to mention a Target shift that starts at eight so I can't be hungover."

Faybelle shrugs. "Whatever _. I_ go in at seven, and I'm still going to Briar's party. _And_ I'm going to be hungover tomorrow. That's a given."

Duchess purses her lips and pushes the elevator button. "Is Bunny going with you?"

Bunny, unfortunately named, was Faybelle's current fling and doubled as a roommate. At the sound of her name, Faybelle groans and stomps into the elevator with heavy steps of her combat boots.

"I hate her," she decides, as the elevator doors close. "I hate her. I'm pretty sure she got back together with her dumb boyfriend _Alistair_."

"Oh," Duchess responds, feeling slighted for having brought it up. "I didn't know."

Faybelle bitterly laughs. "Yeah, well, neither did I. Until last night when she didn't even bother trying to hide the _eighty-seven text messages_ she sent him."

Duchess sighs just as the elevator doors open to their floor. "Do you have a designated driver, at least?"

"I can drive myself. Relax." Faybelle steps out first and frowns all the way to her door. "I really don't want to even _see_ her right now."

"Faybelle," Duchess says, suddenly alarmed, "You're not going to drive yourself!"

"Then come with me," Faybelle replies, like it's that simple. "Forget your laundry and whatever you were talking about. I'm gonna stop by your apartment in half an hour and I'd better see you in a cute ass dress because if Bunny ends up going with _Alistair_ I need you to be ten times hotter than she is, as my date."

Duchess knows better than to refuse Faybelle anything, and at least this way she'll ensure that her best friend will get home safe and because of that she also knows that she won't be tempted to drink, therefore not ending up hungover. "Only if you promise we'll leave by eleven o' clock. And I mean it."

"Fine, fine, we'll leave by eleven," Faybelle waves a hand and unlocks her apartment door. "Go get ready!"

"Just- out of curiosity," Duchess adds, pondering her question, "Will Daring be there?"

"Of _course_ Daring will be there," Faybelle says, exasperated. "You're not leaving to get ready yet, Swan."

"Alright, I'm going!" Duchess says, and true to her word leaves and goes to her own apartment, giddy at the thought of running into her crush and imagining how spellbinding she'll look in the fabulous dress she has tucked away in her closet.

Once she's inside, she notices that Lizzie is already dressed like she's about to leave, too.

"You're home rather late. Did those parents keep you after again?" Lizzie asks, around puckered lips for the deep red lipstick she's slathering on.

"They did," Duchess says, suspicious because from what she's gathered Lizzie never goes out. "Why are you dressed up?"

"I'm meeting a friend. No other reason." Lizzie throws Duchess a glare and stands up straight in her black high heels, running a gloved hand down her form fitting red dress and she tucks an escaped strand of black hair from the bun atop her head. "Are _you_ going to Briar's party?"

 _For Christ's sake._ "Maybe I am," Duchess challenges, "So what? Are _you_?"

Lizzie shrugs. "I might drop by." Picking up a bejeweled Harley Quinn-esque clutch, she leaves without another word, which is just fine by Duchess's standards.

She has a party to go to.

.

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* * *

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An hour later, Faybelle's already begun drinking because sure enough, Bunny Blanc walks in on the arm of Alistair Wonderland and in Faybelle's words that equates a _major fucking disaster_. Duchess, who's twirling a strand of white-and-lavender streaked black hair between her fingertips, is trying to inconspicuously look around for Daring Charming. She sees his sister Darling, and his brother Dexter, but no Daring. She's keeping herself hopeful, though, and she's dressed elegantly for the occasion as it went: a pretty fitted pastel lavender dress that flares around the knees in a petticoat of white and sensible black pumps that aren't too high but aren't too short, either, her hair down and around her shoulders.

"I don't know why she's here," Faybelle raves unhappily, "They're not even friends with Briar! _I'm_ friends with Briar! I've known Briar since we were kids!"

"Right," Duchess agrees, not even listening to what Faybelle's saying, raising her voice to be heard over some electric dubstep remix of a popular summer song. "I totally agree. Do you think something happened with Daring? Why do you think he's late?"

"Whatever," Faybelle spitefully says, loudly, sloshing around a cup of spiked fruit punch in a gimmicky red solo cup. "It's not like we were dating! She can bring around that pathetic douchebag if she wants to. I don't even like her. I _hate_ her."

"He wouldn't be this late. I mean- his sister's already here. So is his brother. Oh, but, does Daring live with them? Who does he live with? The brother, or the sister?"

"Duchess," Faybelle snaps, "Are you even listening?"

"Yes!" Duchess exclaims (but she hasn't been). "Yes, I've been...what were you saying?"

"I need something stronger," Faybelle mutters, all but shoving the cup at Duchess. "Don't drink that."

Duchess takes the cup but doesn't drink it, as Faybelle instructed, rather setting it down on a nearby table but then Faybelle's gone in a sea of people and Duchess is left alone by the DJ's speakers and she wonders why she's even ventured there in the first place if it's the loudest place in the...oh, right, because it gives her a perfect view of the door and anyone who's walking in or out.

Briar Beauty spots her next. " _Duchess_ ," she trills, happily, an entourage three girls deep following her. "So glad you could make it. Is Faybelle around?"

"She's somewhere," Duchess responds, flippantly, mind elsewhere and distracted. "When would you say that people usually start coming to these parties of yours?"

Briar wraps an arm around Duchess's shoulders and laughs, the rings on her fingers digging into Duchess's bare collarbone. "Like, when they start?" Jokingly, she hugs Duchess close. "Are you looking for someone? Because, like, if they haven't showed then there's probably traffic or something. Or maybe they're waiting for the live band to start! I got this _killer_ cover band, they're called The Merry Men."

"Exciting," Duchess flatly says, and she moves away from Briar's hold. "Catch you later?"

"Totally. See you on the dance floor!" Briar hoots, and she and her clique of partygoers follow right behind her. One of them, the one Duchess recognizes as Blondie Lockes, is taking a video, probably for her über-popular vlogging channel. But, whatever. Duchess isn't there for them, she's there for Daring and- oh, the DJ (Melody Piper) is playing a song and telling the party that she's going to be taking a break for the live music to start and Duchess notices on the other end that there's a stage, and some people are setting up equipment, which is fine with Duchess since that means her optimal peeping spot will now be quieter-ish. Slightly, at least, depending on the amps the band has with them.

Faybelle comes back grouchy, per the usual, but she has a bottle of vodka in her hand. "I can't even get drunk with you," Faybelle moans, shot glass at the ready, "You're my designated driver!"

"Obviously," Duchess replies. "Briar talked to me. She was looking for you."

"Oh, fuck her. She's been trying to introduce me to her new boyfriend since, like, forever. Get this, his name's _Hopper_. Like a fucking...frog," Faybelle finishes, flinging around her arms. "But you haven't even heard his last name. It's _Croakington_. If that wasn't bad enough, she tells me that his full name is _Hopper Croakington The Third_. Like, _ew_."

Duchess plucks the shot glass from Faybelle's fingertips. "Do you have a chaser?"

Faybelle snatches it back. "I don't need a damn chaser!"

Duchess shrugs, but then her eyes land on someone entering the party. She's so transfixed at the sight of Daring Charming, she misses the fact that the lead singer of The Merry Men has introduced himself, his band mates, and they've started playing a song that makes the party cheer.

"He's here," Duchess gasps, fluffing her hair.

"Uh, with _another_ girl," Faybelle points out, and Duchess skids to a stop, her feet barely about to start moving.

Apple White. Perfectly bottle-blonde minus the bottle and pretty light blue eyes and a winning smile that she flashes at every single male on the planet and then they fall all over her disgustingly.

Currently, Apple has her hands all over Daring's bicep, looking up at him from under her long eyelashes, batting them ever so often as Daring takes his time grinning at people flocking around the two.

"But they're not dating," Duchess nervously asks, "Right?"

Blondie Lockes comes trailing through the crowd again, her phone in hand, yelling into the device to be overheard. "This just in, Daring Charming has confirmed that he and Apple White are an _exclusive_ couple! Tune in tomorrow for a one-of-a-kind interview with Apple White herself, where she'll give out _all_ the juicy details!"

Duchess narrows her eyes. "Do you think Blondie did that on _purpose_?" Sure, Duchess thought herself mildly conservative in matters regarding her crush, but Blondie was also a known snoop and it'd be like her to be in the know about the private lives of everyone.

"Who fucking cares, Duchess!" Faybelle says (and Duchess notices that the shot glass is gone and by now Faybelle's drinking straight from the vodka bottle). "People _disappoint_ you and _date other people_ and who _fucking cares_ anymore..."

Rather than listening to Faybelle rant, Duchess speed walks out of Briar's party and out onto the balcony of Briar's townhouse, where only a few people have gone to either make out or avoid the loud noise. She thinks that Faybelle will be fine on her own with the vodka, since Duchess has the car keys and besides, Faybelle's always been a binge drinker.

Sitting herself on a bench, wishing there was a drink that wasn't spiked, Duchess notices that Bunny and Alistair are also on the balcony, and they're certainly _not_ talking. It's a good thing Faybelle's inside.

" _Stupid_ ," Duchess mutters to herself, and unwillingly, she feels hot tears prick the corners of her eyes. She'd been practically throwing herself at Daring. She sent him selfies, she saved pictures of him off of his social media websites, she even had a dream wedding planned out, and then there he was, being exclusive with a goody-two shoes primadonna blonde. _Faybelle was right. People disappoint you and date other people and..._

The click of heels sound from behind her. "Duchess?"

With a quick swipe of her fingers, Duchess wipes away any evidence of her tears and turns to face the familiar British accent that she _knows_ is her roommate. "What do you want, Lizzie?"

Lizzie Hearts loiters by the door the leads to the balcony and finally steps over, next to the bench where Duchess is seated. "I wanted some air. I'm just surprised to see you here without Faybelle."

Duchess shrugs. "She's inside. That's not really- my thing."

"The band's decent," Lizzie offers up. "Their lead singer can really play the guitar."

"Well, they must be good if Briar hired them." After a beat, Duchess asks, "Aren't you supposed to be meeting a friend?"

"I was. They went home, and I came here." Lizzie sits down next to Duchess even though Duchess doesn't care for her company and doesn't even move an inch to allow Lizzie more room. "Have you been here long?"

"Not really." Duchess glances over the night sky and inhales slowly. "It's barely ten o' clock. I promised Faybelle till eleven."

"I heard about Alistair," Lizzie whispers, so that even though Bunny and Alistair are on the opposite side of the balcony they won't hear. "Bunny said it was better if they got back together because Faybelle's never been good at sharing her emotions."

"Does Blondie know?" Duchess asks, suddenly, filled with dread at the thought. If Faybelle knew that Blondie was spreading rumors...

"No, nothing like that. I've been acquaintances with the two for a long time and Bunny confided in me. She doesn't want Blondie to learn about it, either. She really likes Faybelle, you know. Bunny. But she's in love with Alistair."

"I won't be telling Faybelle any of this, so don't worry," Duchess begrudgingly admits. "If you want me to keep this a secret."

At the word _secret_ , Lizzie almost jumps. "O-oh. I've only just remembered. I really must get going. I-I love this song!"

Duchess can't even hear the song, but she only nods. "Sure." She's also slightly suspicious of Lizzie, though, because she's sure that Lizzie doesn't have any friends Briar knows, though at the same time, Briar's network connections span far and wide. "I'm going to go inside, too. To find Faybelle."

"Right. See you at home!" Lizzie practically runs away from Duchess once she's inside, into the throngs of people gathered by the stage. Duchess, from her spot by the balcony doors, tries to search for Faybelle, but only ends up seeing Daring talking to his brother Dexter and then she feels elated at the fact that he's alone and most definitely _not_ with Apple White!

The band strikes up another song behind her; a cover of a hit song that's slow and gentle and suddenly the floor's filling up with couples. With Apple nowhere in sight, Duchess's heart races. This is her chance! Pushing past a couple in her way, she approaches Daring, happy to see that Dexter is off to dance with his own girlfriend Raven and even happier to see that Apple has not resurfaced.

"Daring, hi," Duchess says, sweetly, as he focuses on her and she tries not to hyperventilate. "Isn't this band great?"

"Oh, yes. Smashing. Completely smashing. I always did say that live music is better than recorded discs," Daring says, nodding like he's a music expert, charming smile still on his face.

"This is my absolute _favorite_ song," Duchess adds, even if she doesn't know the song name. "My date's gone, and I have no one to dance to it with." Hoping he catches the hint, she smiles brazenly and bats her eyelashes like she's seen Apple White do.

"What a shame. I hope you find them," Daring solemnly replies, placing a hand on Duchess's shoulder before retreating it a second later. "I've got to go. See you around, Debbie."

"My name's Duchess," Duchess says, crestfallen, as Daring leaves her alone, at the side of the stage, couples all around her. "Not Debbie." With an embarrassingly shaky inhale, she tries to act unaffected. Great. She'd basically been rejected. Worse than that, Daring doesn't even know her _name_.

Yup. The night was a complete waste of her time. Oh, _why_ had she vouched to be the designated driver? A nice strong drink would have been great. So would be blasting Taylor Swift and having runny mascara dribbling down her cheeks, alone, without the threat of a roommate and/or a best friend.

Willing herself not to cry because _that_ was pathetic, Duchess slips away from the party and outside of Briar's townhouse, into the street, where the chill night air and the faint sound of a police siren hit her like a brick and she realizes how miserable she is, and also brings to her attention that her dress is stained (most likely with Faybelle's sloppy vodka drinking) and she's cold. Without the threat of being seen, her face crumbles. But she doesn't cry. Duchess Swan _doesn't_ cry.

Fumbling with her bag, her quivering fingers manage to unzip her purse and she finds her phone, which is telling her that it's barely ten twenty and it seems as if the next forty minutes will not go by fast enough. If she's lucky, maybe Faybelle will get too drunk and fall asleep and maybe Duchess can convince her to leave early by tricking her out of a time-telling device.

"Hey, Duchess?"

Alarmed, Duchess whirls around to face Raven Queen, who's the girlfriend of Dexter Charming and a complete diva as legends went. Rumors said she had a famous rivalry with the pretentiously perfect Apple White, and because of that Duchess can appreciate her.

Raven apologetically quirks her dark-purple tinted lips into a smile. "Um, sorry. Dexter saw you leave and he mentioned-"

"Save it," Duchess snaps before she can stop herself, and she really can't. Her first instinct is to be mean to save her own feelings. "I don't know what your boyfriend thinks he overhead, but it's not like that at all. I don't care, all right? I don't care about Daring."

Raven blinks in surprise, and Duchess notices that her thick eyeliner is perfect and wonders how she can get it like that. "That's not...what I meant? Dexter saw you leave and he mentioned to me that Faybelle's being sort of- rowdy."

Duchess feels her face go red. "Right. Faybelle."

Raven's smile is back. "She's trying to pull the lead singer of The Merry Men off the stage."

 _God_. "Is she _really_?" Duchess groans (because _babysitting_ a drunk Faybelle was never on her agenda, and it's _exactly_ like Faybelle to do something utterly embarrassing).

"I mean, don't worry. They're in the last part of their set, so she's not really being _too_ distracting. The lead singer's kind of trying to get away from her, though."

"I'll go get her," Duchess resigns, "Before she does something _stupid_ like the last time she was at Briar's party."

"...you mean like the time she was dancing on Humphrey Dumpty and yelling at people to throw dollar bills at her?"

" _Exactly_ like that."

With Raven trailing her, Duchess weaves her way towards the stage where The Merry Man are finishing up their last song and DJ Melody Piper is already drawing the crowd back. She can see Faybelle, who's bouncing in her heels and has her arms thrown around the neck of a guy whose hands, encased in fingerless gloves, hang limply at his sides because he's determinedly _not_ touching Faybelle, who's giggling like a groupie.

"Faybelle," Duchess says, reaching a hand out for her friend, "It's eleven and you promised we could go home, remember?"

"You _never_ let me have any fun," Faybelle whines, and then she lets go of the lead singer and frowns, blue lipstick smeared around her lips from the amount of time she's spent with a bottle to them, eyes droopy with sleep so Duchess is confident she can convince her to leave all in one piece.

Except Duchess makes the mistake of locking eyes with the lead singer of The Merry Men.

Sparrow Hood.

How could she _not_ have noticed him? With that terrible hat? And the scruffy-looking goatee? Not to mention his _voice_ playing over loudspeakers?!

He grins he second _he_ recognizes _her_. "Well, well, well," he says, pausing between each word. "Look who we have here."

Duchess scowls, arm around Faybelle's shoulders. "Come on, Faybelle. We're going home."

"Do you guys _know_ each other?" Faybelle asks, suddenly seeming wide awake and having found her vodka bottle again. (Duchess worries to find it mostly empty).

"Me and Princess here go way back," Sparrow says, jutting out his chin in greeting.

"We don't," Duchess responds, coldly. "Let's go, Faybelle."

"I wanna party," Faybelle complains, but then Duchess grabs her arm tightly. "Ow. Like, lay off, Swan."

"You're _drunk_ ," Duchess says. From behind her, she can see that Raven's rallied up Dexter and his sister Darling, most likely to help them out.

"We can help you take Faybelle to the car," Darling offers cheerfully, and she's probably sober, too, even though she smells of too-strong cinnamon perfume and there's lipstick on her cheek. Dexter and Raven stand by, waiting for Duchess to need their help which is surprising because Duchess swears she'd never do something as selfless as that.

"See you tomorrow, Princess?" Sparrow asks, smirk on his face.

Duchess narrows her eyes at him, attention returning to her annoying coworker. "Bite me."

"I like it when you talk dirty, baby," Sparrow grins.

"Get a life," Duchess retorts, flipping her hair and then yanking Faybelle alongside her, leaving, gladly accepting Darling's help of supporting her dozing best friend and genuinely appreciating Raven and Dexter's help, too.

Oh, Faybelle's going to regret the hangover. Duchess already regrets her night, and she's not even _close_ to drunk.


	2. Chapter 2

**I know I promised I'd have this up by Tuesday as I'm aiming for a weekly schedule, and I've had this chapter done for days, but the internet at my university dorms cut out and I didn't have time to go on campus and upload this chapter, so. Thank you so much to the fellow Sparchess shippers that have enjoyed this, I adore the fact that this story has been well received :)**

 **same warnings: language, drinking, personal headcanons, but also, Sparchess :3**

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Duchess strolls into Target the next morning wearing designer sunglasses even though the sun's barely up, for fashion purposes, and also to seem aloof and unavailable but more importantly, _important_. She also has no desire to look Sparrow Hood in the face since he'd witnessed the spectacle of Faybelle Thorne being a clingy, desperate drunk. As it turns out, he makes it unnecessarily hard to avoid him because then he's _there_ , _constantly_ , always trying to talk.

Duchess places a hand on her scalp and feels her immaculate bun, ready for the day, and even more ready for the dance studio. She is, incidentally, also not prepared for the dance studio because of the routine she'd told herself she'd nail yesterday. Which hadn't happened. But, oh well. The kids could go over basic ballet positions with Justine again.

"Fancy seeing you yesterday," Sparrow starts, making it clear that he doesn't understand that some things are better left unsaid. Also, he's still trying to engage Duchess in a conversation and she'll have none of that.

Duchess glances at him from the corner of her eye but only _hmphs_ and turns away to where her phone is tantalizingly in reach, but as she's a model employee, she'd never do anything reckless such as text on the job, no matter how many missed calls she's racked up from Faybelle, and she knows that those calls must be about; likely, Faybelle needs someone to complain to.

"So, what? You're ignoring me?" Sparrow leans closer to her and she can smell his cologne, which for some reason smells like pine needles. "And here I thought we were friends."

She's known him for about a day, but she refuses to speak to him so she bites back a witty response and examines her manicure, which is starting to look a little worse for wear. She'd really have to fix that. As three new text messages light up her phone screen, each with Faybelle's name highlighted in bold, Duchess decides that, throwing back her shoulders, that she'll take her break and enjoy herself away from Sparrow, because she can.

"My head fucking hurts," Faybelle hisses through the speakerphone once Duchess has locked herself into an employee-only bathroom stall. "I can't believe you let me do that."

"You said you wanted a hangover, and you got your hangover," Duchess replies, keeping her voice low lest management creep up unexpectedly. "Besides, it's _you_ who said you'd be fine for the morning."

" _I_ didn't say that. _Ugh_ , but whatever-after. I think I'm going to move out of the apartment. Let's be roommates. At least _you_ won't lie to me and _lead me on_."

Duchess fondly rolls her eyes. "I would, but you know I'm rooming with Lizzie."

"So? Ditch her. I'm your best friend. That's how it works. If I say we should move in together, then you say, 'Sure, Faybelle, let me pack my things'. Got it?"

"That's not how it works. You're lucky I'm slacking off work and even talking to you after that stunt of yours at Briar's," Duchess counters.

"Uh, _hello_? I _told_ you I was going to get drunk. That's hardly fair. It wasn't even a stunt. That singer was _hot_ , Duchess. Besides, I know you know him and you haven't given me the four-one-one on who he is. And don't lie that you _don't_ know him because you _totally_ do."

"Do you _really_ want to know?" Duchess says, exasperated. "Fine. He's my coworker. He works at _Target_ , Faybelle. He's a loser, _and_ he thinks Lizzie's attractive."

"I _knew_ it," Faybelle gloats over the phone. "But, that's _not_ why I called you. Have you been on Blondie's blog? Apple White canceled her exclusive interview on _Just Right_ because a _very_ reliable source just said that she was seen _kissing_ Darling Charming at Briar's party yesterday. _Darling_ , Duchess. Not Daring!"

"Wait," Duchess frowns, "What source?"

"Cedar Wood. The girl was practically bursting at the seams. You _know_ she can't lie. That's, like, the worst character flaw ever, but anyway, everyone says she saw the action."

"And?" Duchess gasps, "Does this mean that Daring is single?"

"It means they're not, quote unquote, _exclusive_ ," Faybelle says, and Duchess can just picture the grin that's on her best friend's face. "Likely he's a cover up. I always knew she was a lesbian. Also, apparently? That rivalry thing between her and Raven? Totally bogus. She and Raven used to be in a _relationship_."

"You're lying," Duchess decides. "No way! Apple's not a lesbian. She's dated so many guys!"

"Um, yeah, and _I_ dated so many guys before I realized _that I like girls_ , Swan. That's how the road to lesbiandom goes."

"That's not a word. And, you're bisexual. You don't count, because you still like guys, and the guys you were dating were simply terrible people."

" _Bisexualdom_ , then, in _my_ case. But I _know_ Apple's not bi. I can tell. She's a total lesbian. So, she's going down the road to lesbiandom."

"If you say so," Duchess says, not really caring about Apple's sexual orientation because she's still somewhat hopeful about Daring's botched fake relationship. Duchess thinks of how selfless he is, to put up a facade and pretend to date a girl so that the girl could pursue an actual passionate romance free from judgement. Oh, but it was just so _chivalrous_ and _charming_ and utterly _lovable_...

"You'd better not be thinking what I think you're thinking," Faybelle suddenly warns. "He called you _Debbie_ , Swan!"

Duchess bristles. "How do you know that?"

"You told me last night when you were half asleep and I was crashing on your floor, re-mem- _ber_?" Faybelle snaps. "Don't you dare send him any more selfies! And don't go on his social media sites! Actually, it's probably safe to go on those. He hasn't been posting because of the _scandalous details_ from last night."

"...you're really enjoying this, aren't you."

"Of _course_ I am, I'm sick and tired of Apple White's perfect _bullshit_. Now that everyone knows she's _not_ perfect she won't be put up on a goddamn _pedestal_ anymore."

"I better go before my boss notices I'm gone," Duchess remembers. "You don't mind? I'll see you at the studio after my class?"

"Yeah, yeah, see you then. And ditch your roommate, Swan, I'm serious."

Sparrow is waiting for her when she walks back, and if Duchess wasn't in such a good mood to know that her crush is not in a relationship, she would have steered around him, but she didn't. She even let a little smile on her face. Not that he can tell _how_ happy she is, though, with the sunglasses on her face.

"Aren't you a ball of sunshine," Sparrow remarks. "What, did your boyfriend Daring send you another picture?"

Duchess slides the glasses off her nose and triumphantly grins in return, deciding that her avoidance tactic is so premature and replies, "None of your business."

"You've got to give a guy something here," Sparrow says, and he steps closer to the cash register Duchess repositions herself behind. "Why were _you_ at the party last night?"

"Also none of your business." Nonchalant, Duchess picks up a discarded and misplaced magazine that belongs in the books section and thumbs through it, pretending to be very interested in a recipe for parmesan-pesto aioli stuffed chicken, because that's the first page she lands on.

"You know Briar?" Sparrow asks, and then he keeps talking. "She's my friend Hopper's girlfriend. He got me the gig, you know. Briar flipped when she heard me and the band play. Said we were the best she'd ever booked." Clearly, he thinks he's being cocky, confident, and cool when he says this. It's rather sad, really.

"Briar's never been a girl of high taste," Duchess responds, moving past the recipe to read an article on juicing cleanses. "She's a party girl who basically lives off of cheap liquor."

"She also plans parties for a _living_ , Princess. And you do what, work at Target?" There's a smirk on his face now.

"Says the one who _also_ works at Target," Duchess bites back.

"Yeah, but I've got nighttime band gigs. What do you have, a narcissistic boyfriend who sends you ten million pictures of himself?"

"Nighttime band gigs," Duchess sarcastically repeats. "Well, aren't you simply the cream of the crop. You wouldn't work at Target if you were a professional musician and clearly you aren't."

"Ah, Princess, but I've got some talent going on for me. What have you got?" Sparrow goads.

Duchess narrows her eyes. "I'm a ballet instructor in the summertime if you must know."

"Oh, a _dancer_ ," Sparrow says, smirking like he knows something Duchess doesn't. "Forgive me. I thought dancers were utterly useless to the entertainment industry- oh wait, they are. Unless they want to end up in a Footloose remake or some music video."

Barely able to conceal her rage, Duchess turns another magazine page and almost rips it. "And I thought wannabe musicians ended up homeless one-hit wonders."

"A bit below the belt, don't you think?"

"Well spotted." Duchess crosses her arms and finally looks Sparrow square in the eye.

He's grinning, his straight red hair hanging in his eyes, and with another tacky fedora on his head, and this one has a dumb feather sticking out of it. "At least musicians actually have fans. I've never heard of fan bases for... _dancers_."

"Well, _good_ musicians have fan bases. I don't suppose you'd know anything about _that_."

Sparrow whistles. "You're a real sore loser, Princess."

"Who says _I'm_ the loser here?" Duchess glares. "If anyone's the loser, it's _you_. You have no non-refutable points."

Sparrow grins. "Your boyfriend puts up with all that?"

Duchess colors red. "None of your _business_."

"Oh, did I hit a nerve? Is there trouble in paradise?"

Duchess slams the magazine on the table. "I'm going to return this to the books section."

"Look at that, I _did_ hit a nerve. What is it? Is he gay? Did you find out he cheated on you?"

" _None_ of your _business_." Flouncing past, Duchess tosses her head high and walks _en pointe_ all the way to the books section. Because she can.

Even the dance studio, with all of Justine Dancer's optimistic energy, is preferable.

"Henry, lift your leg a little higher. There you go, just like that. Samantha, don't cry, sweetie. It's okay. You're not hurt." Justine is smiling, and sure enough, having them go over basic ballet positions, ergo, nothing hard, yet kids are already crying, because the universe hates Duchess Swan. Or so Duchess has concluded, anyway.

Her head hurts. And Faybelle's slated to walk in any minute and she really, really hopes that Faybelle won't be in a bad mood and start to cuss because then the kids will hear it and...

"I'm _here_ , bitch," Faybelle walks in, in all her Hocus Latte garb, hat on backwards and two coffee cups in hand. "I wasn't going to wait outside. The girl at the front desk said some bullshit about how I _can't interrupt the class,_ but I was like, hell no! I'm going to walk in if I want."

The kids look interested in her arrival. Duchess sighs and wonders if taking an aspirin in front of kids counts as popping pills and if that's necessarily a bad thing.

"Why don't we take a juice break!" Justine gushes, looking worriedly over at Faybelle, and then gives the kids a pained smile.

"Great idea," Duchess replies, disinterested. "Yeah. Five minutes." Pulling Faybelle aside, she hisses, "I'm _toast_ if those kids repeat those words, Faybelle!"

"Which words? Bitch? Bullshit? Relax, Swan. You worry too much." Faybelle hands her the coffee cup in her left hand and takes a deep swig of the other. "Besides, when's this class end?"

"Another half hour. Please keep quiet until then, at least," Duchess implores.

Faybelle groans. "Fine. Half an hour."

(she _doesn't_ keep quiet for half an hour. Duchess ends up staying extra late because Henry's a little shit who starts calling every girl a bitch and then his parents are undoubtably mad)

Faybelle doesn't look any sort of apologetic as they walk home together to the apartment building.

"I've got something terrible to tell you," she says, "And it's not good."

"What's terrible?" Duchess asks, interested and suddenly wanting to forgive her best friend. Though perhaps not right away. And not solely on the basis of having gossip.

"Blondie's vlog, _Just Right_? Well, Briar took over Apple's exclusive story slot, and she was sporting a _huge_ rock. The news is out- she's getting married. To Hopper Croakington _The Third_."

"But you don't sound happy- how is that bad news?" Duchess hops over a crack in the sidewalk. "I thought you'd be happy. You've known Briar since you were kids. She's probably really excited to plan her own wedding."

"Ugh, don't remind me. Get this, she wants me to be a _bridesmaid_. Majorly gross. But," Faybelle adds, voice softening, and for once, she doesn't sound smug or baiting. "It's...about Daring."

"Is he _officially_ confirmed as single?" Duchess beams.

"He's...dating Lizzie Hearts."

Duchess skids to a stop so fast, her ballet shoes slip from her grip and onto the dirty pavement. "Sorry," she manages, "I thought I just heard you say..."

"I'm sorry, Swan," Faybelle sighs. "I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news but I figured I was the best one to tell you. So, there. Apparently he was secretly dating Lizzie Hearts and was only pretending to date Apple so that Apple could secretly date Darling. Confusing, I know. Totally unnecessary."

"But- she's my _roommate_ ," Duchess stammers, dumbfounded. "She- she _knew_ about all the pictures I sent him! She knew about all the pictures of him I had stored in my room and she never-!"

" _Please_ don't do anything like cry over him," Faybelle says, and grabs Duchess's elbow to yank her along, forcing Duchess's shocked feet to keep moving, and Duchess barely has enough time to scoop up her ballet shoes. "He doesn't deserve that, _Debbie_."

Duchess ignores the sting of hurt that swells up in her throat. "Okay. Fine. So what does Briar's wedding have to do with Daring being in a relationship with Lizzie?"

"Because he publicly announced that he's taking Lizzie with him to their wedding. I know. Gross. Also, what a douchebag, making everything about himself, as _usual_. For that, Briar should take back his invitation."

Duchess knows Faybelle is right, but that doesn't stop her from feeling sorry for herself in the process- for having crushed on a guy for eons only to find out he'd been dating her roommate. That had to be a surefire sign that the universe was hell bent on punishing her if nothing else was.

"I suppose," Duchess half-heartedly agrees, even if she's unwilling to view her crush in a negative light like this, but she definitely can view Lizzie as being the wrongdoer. "I haven't been the nicest person, theoretically, in regards to Lizzie Hearts but doesn't this go against some sort of sisterly code?"

"No, sisterly codes are _dumb_ ," Faybelle says, and she rolls her eyes to the sky. "She did you a favor, Swan. Now that she scooped up your terrible crush and turned out to be a backstabbing whore, it means that you can move on with your life without Daring and without _her_. Killing two birds with one stone."

Duchess shrinks back. "I don't know if I think of it like that."

"Well, I do. Now you have a great reason to ditch your roommate and an even better reason to find a new crush." Faybelle smiles (and when Faybelle smiles, it's unsettling) just as they reach their apartment complex.

"I don't think of Lizzie as a whore," Duchess ventures, "I think- I think she's rather nice, really. Behind the demanding front she puts on."

Faybelle stares at Duchess like she's crazy when they reach the elevator. "You can't be serious. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're taking this so well, but like...Lizzie stole your crush. That just _screams_ 'backstabbing whore'."

"Let's just not call her that word, please?" Duchess asks of her, and she hates saying cuss words as it is. Faybelle mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like ' _what the fuck_ ' but begrudgingly nods.

"Anyway, now that you don't have to save yourself for 'someone special', let's do something fun. Let's hit up a club or something. Let's drink until our livers give out!"

"...let's not do that."

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Sparrow is watching Lizzie, and he's looking at her...differently. Like he knows something she doesn't, per usual.

She decides to hate it and strides forward in her ballet flats, tossing her long hair behind her head. The best part about working weekends is that she doesn't have to go to the dance studio right after work, and the worst part about working weekends is that she has longer shifts and no dance studio time at all lest it be for recreational use and Duchess knows that Faybelle will complain if she ends up waiting for Duchess to finish dancing when she doesn't _have_ to dance. Also, Duchess wants to get home before Lizzie does; she's been avoiding her roommate and sleeping over at Faybelle's apartment (Duchess thinks it may be to make Bunny jealous, though she's gotten no confirmation on that), but Duchess also has no clothing to last another night and she really wants to sleep in her apartment again.

He's still watching her as she gets behind the cash register. "What?" she demands, and wrinkles her nose as she notices another tacky hat on his head, this one a forest green color wrapped in an odiously obnoxious gold chain.

Sparrow draws himself out of his stupor and blinks once or twice. "Nothing." Then, after a minute, he asks, "Do you have plans tonight?"

Duchess stares towards where a few kids are playing the demo versions of video games and pretends to be transfixed on them. "Maybe I do."

Sparrow doesn't believe her. Or maybe he _chooses_ not to believe her. "Right, sure. Anyway, if your other plans fall through, you should come to this party I'm hosting."

Duchess suspiciously eyes him. "Why?"

"What, you don't think I can invite you to a party, no strings attached?" Sparrow wiggles his eyebrows. Which is dorky.

"No, you can't, because we're not friends," Duchess replies, eyes narrowing.

"Alright, fine. A friend of mine's been asking about that girl that was trying to pull me off the stage. Thinks she's cute, wants to see her again. Think you can arrange that for me?" Sparrow asks this in a propositioning manner, and Duchess wonders if he's a natural born salesman. And, she also knows that Faybelle's ego will grow ten times if Duchess shares this information so she _knows_ she won't.

"I knew you had your own agenda," Duchess primly responds, running her hands over the buttons on the cash register to avoid answering.

"But you'll come?" Sparrow presses. He slides a piece of paper towards her and she sees an address written on it with a pen that's not his and is most likely from the school supplies display.

Duchess shrugs and acts as if she has several offers waiting around. "I'll see if I can swing by."

"Awesome." Sparrow's lips stretch into a wide grin. Duchess sees his smile and ventures to smirk back before she turns away and their moment is over. She won't _really_ go to his party, but a pending invite makes her feel better- er, even if the invite isn't for herself, per say.

Duchess doesn't even plan to tell Faybelle. Really, she doesn't. It sort of...slips out.

"You can't avoid Lizzie forever without packing up your bags and getting a move on," Faybelle points out as she walks Duchess from Target all the way to the apartment building. It's a longer walk than the dance studio, but Duchess usually doesn't mind it. Keyword _usually_.

"I know," Duchess says, crossly. "But I haven't found a new apartment yet. Besides, our apartment building is close enough so that I can walk to school, to work, and to the dance studio. There's no vacancies for me to just move into a new apartment, Faybelle."

"So this means you're going to keep crashing on my couch?" Faybelle asks. "Because Bunny's not saying anything but she's apparently bringing Alistair over tonight, so, fuck my life. I need to get away from her. What do you say about switching things up and letting _me_ sleep on _your_ couch?"

Duchess sighs. She knows if she agrees, she'll still see Lizzie, and she'll have to say something. "Let's not."

"Uh, you have to. I'm not going to play third wheel," Faybelle snaps.

"Let's go out tonight," Duchess decides, all in a rush, "Yeah. We won't come back until late at night and even then Lizzie will be asleep so I won't have to talk to her at all. It'll be great."

"Go where?" Faybelle asks, raising an eyebrow. "You never want to go out."

Duchess shakes her head. "It's- to a- friend's house!"

"You also don't have friends," Faybelle adds.

"I do too," Duchess replies, but then realizes Faybelle's sort of right. "Um...do you remember my coworker from Target?"

Faybelle lights up, predictably. "The hot lead singer?"

"Right, him. He's having a party tonight, and he invited me," Duchess says, "So let's go!"

Faybelle's suspicions are overruled, as always, with the promise of partying. Sometimes Duchess swears Faybelle's worse than Briar Beauty, party planner extraordinaire.

"Give me a second to change and then we're leaving, and we're not coming back 'till two in the morning!" Faybelle crows.

Duchess regrets even opening her mouth the second she hears that, but she regrets haven told Faybelle at all once they're actually in Sparrow Hood's home. Or, rather, the home he shares with his bandmates, because he doesn't live alone, but more importantly, Duchess wishes she could've prevented the disaster of even attending, because Faybelle is off being an imposing social butterfly and Duchess is sober on the edge of the couch, half-listening to a conversation between two equally boring girls.

Faybelle, it seemed, had found the "friend" of Sparrow's that had thought she was cute: a girl with short and half-purple hair who's unfairly adorable, whose name was Poppy O'Hair (a weird name) but Duchess knows that by the many texts Faybelle has been sending her on the basis of possibly finding herself a new girlfriend, and that makes Duchess feel worse than before and wants to drink _liquor_ more than ever.

Duchess hasn't even seen _Sparrow_. Not that she's been...keeping an eye out of anything, but it would've been nice to get a hello from the host, as proper social etiquette called for that.

"Hey!" One of the boring girls next to Duchess leans closer to her and says, "You look _so_ familiar. Have I seen you before?"

"No, I don't think so," Duchess responds, trying to freeze her out before she attempts further conversation, not that it works. The boring girl keeps going. It's not her fault that she's boring, actually, Duchess would think that about anyone who was sitting next to her discussing boring things like hair products.

"I swear I've seen you before. Are you one of Briar Beauty's friends?"

 _No_. "Something like that," Duchess decides.

"I knew it. My name's Holly." Holly sticks out a hand for Duchess to shake, which Duchess does (she wasn't raised in a barn, after all). "You know Sparrow, too? I heard The Merry Men might play at Briar and Hopper's wedding. Everyone's saying it's going to the coolest bash ever-after."

"So I've heard," Duchess says, and takes a long drink of the water in her hand, wishing it were spiked somehow.

"Everyone's trying to score an invite," Holly continues. "Her maid of honor, Ashlynn? She's getting _so_ many Facebook friend requests because _everyone_ wants to go to Briar's wedding."

Duchess decides that _she really doesn't care about that,_ but she nods along, pretending to listen. "Hmm."

"I don't blame them, you know, but I'm friends with Briar so I'm glad I have an invite for myself. Are you going to their wedding?"

"I'll decide when it's time," Duchess replies, looking around to see if anyone she vaguely recognizes is there so she can get away from Holly.

"I heard that Briar's going to have an ice sculpture of herself and Hopper at the reception. Isn't that so cool?"

"Right," Duchess absently answers, but then she notices someone walk out of a door at the end of a hallway, and locks eyes with them on accident, when- she registers that it's Sparrow. At the sight of him, she widens her eyes and ever-so-slightly tilts her head towards Holly, as if imploring for him to rescue her.

Luckily, he does.

"Holly, I see you've met my good friend Duchess," Sparrow says when he gets close enough. "I actually need her help with something, though, so- see you later?" Not letting Holly get a word in, Sparrow pulls Duchess off the couch with one hand, leading her away from the general cluster of people in the room, so quickly that Duchess's cup sloshes disastrously.

Glad to be away from the music and the people, Duchess figures that she shouldn't have come at all and instead faced Lizzie, because she's reminded on how much she hates the chitchat and formalities that come with mingling with new people. Her water, which spilled down the front of her dress in her haste to get away, is surprisingly cold and very prominently dark against the lilac color of her outfit.

"Holly doesn't know when to stop," Sparrow explains, but then he sees that Duchess isn't paying attention to him and is instead frowning at her wet dress. "Oh- shit. Sorry. You wanna borrow something?"

He gestures for her to go into a room, the one he'd come out of, and Duchess follows rather than complain, because it's blissfully quiet in there, and she guesses that it must be his bedroom. His walls are forest green, his bed is a mess of rumpled gray and black sheets, but it's surprisingly clean. She isn't sure what she was expecting- adult magazines littering the dressers, maybe, with possibly a mountain of dirty laundry, but there's none of that. The only poster he has on his wall is of comic book superheroes, and the calendar hanging is one of landscapes.

"I can get you a towel to dry off," Sparrow suggests, head buried in his closet. Duchess sits on the edge of his bed, and realizes that the sheets smell like his sharp cologne but it's not entirely unpleasant. Except, she's not supposed to think of things like this- she's not allowed to think Sparrow is anything less than what her predetermined agenda made him out to be.

Duchess is only torn out of her reverie as he tosses her a blue towel covered in orange seashells and then a long t-shirt with some logo she doesn't recognize plastered on it.

"Thank you," Duchess hesitantly says. "Um...you didn't have to do that."

"It's the least I could do." Sparrow's grin is back. "Poppy's over the hill with your friend Faybelle, so I've heard."

"So you have," Duchess responds, and peels the wet fabric away from her skin so that she can rub the towel over the material.

"Do you want me to leave?" Sparrow asks. "I didn't think- I should give you some privacy." But, Duchess notices, his eyes linger a little too long on the pearly buttons on her dress top.

"That would be ideal," Duchess admits, and once Sparrow is gone and the door to his bedroom is closed, she takes off her dress and instead pulls the t-shirt on, and it's so long that it fits her like a dress anyway. Overall, it feels completely better, and definitely drier. She appreciates Sparrow going out of his way to do this for her, and it's a surprising thing- appreciating Sparrow, that is. She's used to him being annoying, not kind, and especially not polite.

Duchess opens the door to the hallway and sees Sparrow sitting there, looking down at the phone in his hand, but he looks up once he hears the noise the door hinges make.

"Hey," he says, cheerfully. "My shirt looks good on you."

Unnerved because that sounds suspiciously like a compliment and Duchess has no need for those, she frowns. "What do you want?"

"What do you mean, what do I want? You've already got me what I want. I told you the terms," Sparrow says, "Just bringing your friend Faybelle over because Poppy thought she was cute."

That doesn't explain his overtly nice behavior. "You're being weird," Duchess decides, flicking a strand of hair away from her face.

"I'll take that as a friendly comment," Sparrow chides, and he's grinning at her. It makes Duchess's cheeks color red but only slightly and she's upset at herself for that. "Do you have plans tomorrow?"

Duchess doesn't, and she has the day off from Target, but she debates answering the question at all before she finally says, "I might. It depends on underlying circumstance at this point." Which isn't entirely untrue. She does, actually, need to go apartment hunting with Faybelle and possibly work on her dance routine.

"If those underlying circumstances don't get in your way," Sparrow says, and he's still staring at Duchess so intently that she isn't sure what to make of his behavior, and he stands to lazily lean against the hallway wall. "You should go out with me."

Duchess is taken aback. "You mean, like- a date?"

"Exactly like a date, Princess."

She thinks he must be joking and almost calls his bluff before she realizes that he's patiently waiting for an answer. "You're being serious."

"Don't get too overwhelmed, Princess," Sparrow jests, and his electric grin is focused entirely on Duchess and she thinks it must be because he's high. Or drunk. Or- anything far from sober.

"You don't _like_ me," Duchess states, plain as day, and crosses her arms. "What is this really about?"

"What do you mean I don't like you? I _do_ like you. I think you're pretty with your hair in a ponytail and I think your clothes look _much_ better on my bedroom floor."

The last comment earns him a scoff and a disgusted smack on the back of his head that almost tips his hat straight off. "If you think this is a joke," Duchess snaps, "I'm not laughing. It's late, and I think I'll get Faybelle and go home." Turning on her heel, she makes to flounce away.

"Wait, I didn't mean it like that!" Sparrow bursts out and grabs her wrist before she can leave. "Well, I did, but I thought you'd laugh. I was joking around."

Duchess pries her arm from his grip, but obligatorily turns to face him. " _Fine_ ," she hisses through gritted teeth. "Fine. I'll go on a date with you."

Sparrow lights up and opens his mouth, presumably to start talking, but Duchess will have none of that.

"But I expect a date that is neither foolhardy nor tasteless," Duchess demands, "And don't expect me to like you or anything."

"You're so sure of that, Princess?" Sparrow prods, that ever-present smile gracing his face.

"I _don't_ like you, so don't get any ideas," Duchess responds and ignores the nervous pitter-patter of her heartbeat.

"Whatever you say."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for your kind words on my last chapter :) I was worried that they're a little ooc as they're not really the focus in EAH, which is like my nightmare actually lol. This chapter is shorter, because I was originally going to end it this week, but I decided to switch it up and divide it into two chapters, so it's like half the size of last week's update ^-^ this chapter is all about the Sparchess date, and next chapter will be the finale!**

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Faybelle is grossly interested in Poppy O' Hair, which means that Duchess finds herself best-friend-less most of the time. Essentially, Faybelle lives on her phone now and she's only known O' Hair for a damn day, and is less than sympathetic to Duchess's problem of the impending Sparrow date.

"Did you know Poppy has a twin? She's cuter than the twin, but still. Look at her Instagram page, she took pictures of that pet grooming business she started!"

Duchess spares Faybelle's phone a glance, but she's also rifling through her closet at the same time. "That's picture's from two years ago, Faybelle!"

"I'm not ashamed." Faybelle sits down on Duchess's bed (Lizzie is, thankfully, notably absent, though Duchess knows that on account of having memorized Lizzie's work schedule). Crossing one leg over the other, she states, "Social media stalking is important in every relationship."

"Oh, there's a _relationship_ now?" Duchess grouches.

"Let me be optimistic, Swan," Faybelle counters.

"You're never optimistic!"

"Lay off." Faybelle clicks out of Poppy's Instagram. "Have you stalked Sparrow's social media accounts?"

"No, because there will definitely _not_ be a relationship with him in my future." Duchess picks out a dress that has capped sleeves, a lacy top, and a flowery skirt. "What do you think?"

"To go on a date with someone you _don't_ want to date? It's adequate. It also looks like you've put too much thought into picking out something nice."

"I have not!" Duchess implores, and decides that the dress is, borrowing Faybelle's word, adequate. "I'm going to be back soon. So don't do anything rash. And don't invite anyone over, because Lizzie doesn't even know that you're here, meaning she definitely won't appreciate a stranger."

"Are you _really_ sure you'll be back soon? Because I know how first dates go with guys. They try to act like actual human beings and then the next thing you know you're making out in the parking lot of an Applebee's and his hand's up your-"

"Okay," Duchess cuts her off, cringing, "I'm going to change! And leave!"

Faybelle shrugs. "Just being realistic."

"You're _not_."

Duchess is ready to leave in another hour, with her hair pulled into a half-ponytail, the dress ironed and put on, with a pair of kitten heels that seem functional enough; they're cream colored with little bows on the toes. The problem is, though, that she does not know where she and Sparrow are even going on this godforsaken date and she worries about being either underdressed or overdressed (though, thinking of Sparrow, it may be the latter).

Sparrow's car turns out to be a truck, a truck that is old and green and she would've winced if she hadn't been making an effort to be nicer. Instead, she fakes a polite smile when she sees him, leaning against the passenger side of the car, hands behind his back, still with a _hat on his head_ (though it's black and matches his pants, which she figures is alright-ish).

"Hello," Duchess cautiously says, avoiding looking at Sparrow and instead stares at his shirt, which is a button up but is also patterned in black and white symbols she doesn't recognize. It's acceptable enough, if not odd.

"Hey." And he presents her with a lily, which was behind his back.

Duchess takes it, surprised, and runs her fingers over the stem and its petals. "Oh- thank you."

Sparrow opens the door for her next, gesturing towards the seat. "Ladies first."

Duchess sits, a little stunned. He's meeting her high criteria for her own Prince Charming, whether he realizes this or not. His car is cleaner than she expected, and it smells like leather thanks to a hanging air freshener.

Which is a very bad thing.

...she _can't_ like him. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Not even in a friendly way.

Because Sparrow Hood is the furthest thing possible from Prince Charming, but he's acting _too_ nice. And actually interested and invested in this joke of a date.

Duchess buckles her seatbelt around the time Sparrow turns the key in the ignition.

"Where are we going?" she asks, suspicious.

"It's a surprise," Sparrow answers, and there's a secretive smirk on his face Duchess wants to smack off. But she doesn't, of course. She stays silent and subdued and doesn't complain even though she can't recognize any of the streets they're driving through and figures that as long as he's not driving them to a shady teenager-infested hillside makeout spot it'll be fine.

But, they end up parked outside of a roller rink. Duchess, while graceful _en pointe_ and in dance, has never done well on wheels and she's certainly not dressed for it, which she tells Sparrow once he opens her passenger door for her (unnecessarily, but she does appreciate it nonetheless, though it's a thought she squashes down immediately). His response, however, is less than satisfactory because they still end up walking towards the rink.

"You're not serious, are you?" Duchess asks, the second they're inside and he's paying for rental skates.

"Oh, I'm completely serious." Waggling his eyebrows, he gestures for her to pick a pair of skates.

Duchess ends up cladding her feet in garish electric purple roller skates that look as if they've been used by at least a thousand other people, and Sparrow puts on a pair of terrible neon green ones. Duchess tries to take a step and realizes that she's terribly uncoordinated in skates, and almost falls over, except Sparrow grabs onto her forearms to stop her from doing just that.

"This isn't funny," Duchess hisses as Sparrow lets out a laugh, and she's now certain that a roller rink falls under a 'classless, tasteless' date category.

"Relax, Princess." Sparrow's hands help her glide all the way to the actual rink. "If it makes you feel better, I won't let go of you the entire time."

Duchess narrows her eyes. "You're not allowed to do that."

"Alright, alright, can't blame a guy for trying. I guess I'll just let go of you then," Sparrow smirks, and then Duchess no longer feels his hands gripping her and then she's rushing forward in the skates, practically gliding with no means of stop, a terrified squeal coming out of her mouth in an undignified manner.

Before she can crash into two third-graders, Duchess feels Sparrow's hand slip into hers and notices that he's not wearing tacky fingerless gloves, actually, as he seems to favor outside of Target, and then he's pulling her towards the side of the rink, actually being very helpful about the whole situation.

But Duchess tries not to linger on the fact that holding his hand is actually sort of nice, because she's trying to actively find fault in the date.

"This is-" Duchess huffs, trying to stay balanced and trying not to tip over, "-this is a waste of time."

"That's because you've never tried it," Sparrow says, and his hand closes tighter on hers. "Is Target's best employee actually bad at _roller-skating_?"

"Working at Target and being good at roller-skating have no correlation." Glaring, Duchess barely manages to pull her hand away from Sparrow's and try to take a step or two of her own, which doesn't work, as she slips and almost falls.

 _Almost_.

Sparrow's arms catch her because she does, and she's a mess of splayed limbs and his _laugh_ , she can hear his laugh in her ear and her hair is pressed against his neck and she almost laughs, too, but she catches herself before she can, instead giving out a huffy breath that signifies her annoyance. Which, she thinks, is good enough.

It takes a few trips around the rink (Sparrow holding onto Duchess's hand and Duchess decidedly not looking him in the face lest he catch _something_ resembling a blush) before they finally return the skates and Sparrow takes her out of the rink, not holding her hand but his fingers brushing against hers in a way that makes her jumpy and anxious.

"This was a terrible date," Duchess tells him as she steps over a crack in the pavement towards his truck.

"What, is roller skating that bad?" Sparrow grins, and Duchess notices that the setting sun's orange hues clash with his head and his dumb goatee and she almost laughs at the scenery of that.

"It is," Duchess says, fingers skirting down her dress, "Because I'm not dressed for it." She ducks her head to avoid a new and sudden bout of shyness that she feels around him, which, of course, is unnecessary. She still doesn't _like_ him.

Sparrow shrugs, strolling by her like he has all the time in the world. "I'd say this date's not over yet."

"Oh, _you_ say it's not over yet," Duchess voices her disdain. "I think I have a say in the matter, and-"

"Let's get coffee. Nothing fancy, unless you're hungry," Sparrow interjects, smirk on his face. "Do me a favor and ease up a little bit, Princess. I'm trying to get you to like me here."

Duchess actually _does_ blush at that. "Well I won't," she says, but she lets Sparrow open up the car door for her.

Because, well- she can.

(and, as it turns out, he picks a rather lovely café with eccentric decor and a delicious amount of teas in addition to the coffee)

"The Wonderland Haberdashery and Tea Shop," Duchess says, reciting the cafe's name with a small smile on her face as she sips on their appropriately named charmed chai tea, because it tastes as if it's made of magic and ought to be illegal with how good it was. Honestly, Duchess was addicted to Hocus Latte's white chocolate iced cappuccinos, but the chai tea was a recommendation of none other than Blondie Lockes, blogger/vlogger with the penchant for finding things that were just right on all upcoming restaurants' menus, and while Duchess swore she never kept up with _Just Right_ she did know that Blondie had the right idea about the tea. Spiced, but gentle, and so good.

"Yeah, the name's a little long," Sparrow notices, grinning as he puts too many sugar cubes into his coffee.

"I'm surprised you wouldn't run at the sight of such long words on the sign." Duchess challenges him with those words, mainly because an engaging battle of witty banter is surely the distraction she needs to get her mind off the fact that she can't quite look Sparrow in the eye, though she also refuses to think it's because she's been holding his hand. And she's trying to ignore how close he is, seated in the tiny table that barely fits one chair, let alone two.

"Nope." Sparrow's grin is wide as he surveys Duchess unabashedly, which she's upset about. "You're not going to psych me out here. I know what a haberdashery is."

"Oh, really?" Duchess counters, and a smile starts to grown on her face. "Enlighten me then."

"It's a place where they-" Sparrow actually looks lost for words, much to Duchess's content. "They grow horseradishes."

"Wrong," Duchess trills, oh-so-happy with the fact. "Traditionally, a haberdashery is an establishment associated with men's clothing, more specifically, s-"

"No, no, no," Sparrow cuts her off then, waving the sugar cube tongs. "I'm not here for a history lesson. That's off-limits."

Duchess, irritated at having been interrupted, snidely responds, "That's because you're uneducated."

"And you're boring," Sparrow decides. "It's summer. You're not allowed to start thinking about school stuff."

"A haberdashery is _not_ -"

"Give it a rest, eh, Princess?" And Sparrow's grin is back. "You're not a teacher or anything. Unless you're into roleplaying. Because then I'd be open to-"

Duchess flicks a sugar cube onto his lap to avoid his continuation of stupid words. "You're incorrigible."

It's late by the time they return to the apartment building. Duchess unbuckled her seatbelt and let Sparrow open the car door for her, but that's the extent of the romantic advances she'll allow, even if he insists on walking her to the door of her apartment, which is, frankly, unnecessary.

He does it anyway, though.

The elevator ride up, Duchess pretends to listen to Sparrow talking about music. She actually doesn't care for the music he listens to, which involves heavy electric guitar and no form of piano. The second the elevator doors open and she's made one too many comments on how 'interesting' his music choices are, Duchess all but sprints towards her apartment door.

Key in her fingers, Duchess gracefully faces Sparrow and notes, "Thank you for the lovely evening." Social graces required it, of course, and as fed up as she is with his childishness and his subpar taste in music, she has to admit that today has not been all bad. She experienced the oddest sensation of fondness when she recalls Sparrow's hands holding her own, not that she'll ever admit it to anyone but herself. And _especially_ not Faybelle.

"No need for formality, Princess." Sparrow is leaning against the wall next to her door, with that ever-present bright grin, though it's more subdued. And Duchess notices, truly, how _close_ he is to her and how he's suddenly _too_ close, so that she's staring into his eyes and realizing how lovely they are and that his knuckles are grazing her cheek.

Duchess's breath catches in her throat. "What are you-"

"I'm going to kiss you now."

And he does. His lips are soft and move against hers slowly, _so_ slowly, like he's coaxing her to kiss him back. Which, Duchess realizes, he probably is, but she's so shocked that she can't comprehend it all and it's her _coworker_ , and worse than that, a _musician_ , kissing her and she doesn't even _like_ him but she won't admit that it's nice, sort of, and her eyes close almost out of instinct and then the calloused pads of his fingertips are brushing against the skin of her neck to bring her closer, fingers tangled in her thick hair, and Duchess finally kisses him back, but only for a second.

She breaks away from him first, and stares. She stares for such a long time. "I- I don't think-"

Sparrow shuts her up with another kiss, and this time, it's rushed and long and she draws herself up on her tiptoes to get closer to him and then his arms rest on her waist and her arms are thrown around his neck and they're both sort of leaning against the door of her apartment trying not to make noise but failing.

But, Duchess resolves when Sparrow's tongue nudges past her lips, this wouldn't ruin their work relationship.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry that this chapter's late! But, it's also the very last chapter of this fic, and I want to thank the lovely reviews, follows, and favorites it's gathered** **It's not the last Sparchess fic in the works from me, though ;p**

 **Shoutout to everyone who's given this fic a chance, y'all rock!**

 **EverAfterHighFanFiction**

 **HunterHero416**

 **Ponipop**

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 **potterverseau**

 **Kittycheshire06**

 **And of course the Guests who have reviewed!**

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Duchess has never been wrong before. It's an odd feeling.

She'd called in sick to work, because she can't imagine facing Sparrow, inherently meaning that she was wrong in assuming their date (and kissing) would not interrupt their work relationship.

Faybelle called in sick to Hocus Latte, too, claiming sisterly solidarity. Duchess figures it's only because Poppy is having some fundraiser event at her pet grooming business and Faybelle wants to show up and surprise her.

"Tell me all the details," Faybelle demands over the kitchen table while Duchess pokes at a bowl of cereal, the electric wall clock announcing the time as a quarter to nine, relatively early. "How did it go? Was he terrible? I've heard guitar players are really good with their fingers. Is that true?"

"Don't be gross," Duchess winces at all of Faybelle's insinuations, "We only kissed!"

"But what _kind_ of kissing?" Faybelle asks, like there's subsections to the action that Duchess doesn't know about. "Was it 'I'm kissing you because I have to' or was it 'I'm kissing you in the throes of passion'?"

"There were _no_ throes of passion!" Duchess exclaims, turning bright red, letting go of her spoon so it makes a splash in the milk.

" _Sure_ , Swan. C'mon, spill. Was there tongue?"

"If you're going to be _crude_ about the entire ordeal, then I won't tell you anything." Duchess frowns.

"So that's a yes on the tongue?"

Duchess spoons more cereal into her mouth to avoid answering, though maybe her red cheeks give her away.

Faybelle heaves a huge sigh when she realizes Duchess won't fess up. "Fine. Are you coming with me to Poppy's fundraiser?"

"I've still got dance class," Duchess replies, even though Poppy's fundraiser (an event raising money for unadopted older pets) sounds fine enough as events go. "If the fundraiser runs late maybe I'll swing by."

" _Fine_ ," Faybelle tiredly repeats. "What about the dance routine you've been working on for the little monsters? Did you get that done?"

"Almost," Duchess honestly responds. "It needs a few tweaks, but then I'll be ready by this afternoon."

Though, in all fairness, nothing would have prepared her for the afternoon, the reason for it being purely unrelated to dance.

Faybelle had already left to Poppy's fundraiser, so Duchess went on her own to the dance studio, fifteen minutes early, to find Justine already there in dance clothes and a dreamy smile on her face.

Duchess side eyes her and shifts her dance bag over her shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

"You never told me you had a _boyfriend_ ," Justine excitedly starts to blab, eyes wide as she clasps her hands to her heart. "How _romantic_. He's in the room now, wi-"

Duchess doesn't let Justine finish. She shoves open the door to the classroom to find Sparrow Hood himself seated by the stereo that plays their instrumental track CDs and the instant he sees her, he smiles. Duchess doesn't.

"You are _not_ my boyfriend," Duchess automatically starts off, crossing her arms, dropping her bag at her feet. "Why are you here?"

"What, can't I stop by to see my girl?" Sparrow grins, and then from behind the stereo he comes up with a bouquet of red roses.

"I am _not_ ," Duchess fumes, "Your _girl_." And she blushes right afterwards. The audacity of her own stupid hormones.

Sparrow presses the roses into Duchess's hands. She only accepts them because if they fall, petals will scatter and her room will be crawling with children soon, so last minute cleanups are an unnecessary evil. That doesn't mean she'll like them, though, even if they do smell fragrant and sweet.

"Playing hard-to-get, Princess?" Sparrow smirks. "I've got all day."

Narrowing her eyes, Duchess demands to know, "How did you find me? I've never told you the name of the dance studio."

"Google," Sparrow replies, like that's the answer to all the universe's problems. "I know your name, I know your apartment complex, and I know your profession. It's not that hard."

"You sound like a stalker," Duchess states, crossing her arms.

"Well, you also have 'ballet instructor at Twelve Dance Studio' on your Tinder profile."

"I do not!" Duchess screeches, and her face turns red, mortified at the thought of someone stumbling upon her eons-old online dating profile that she'd signed up for with Faybelle (again with the sisterly solidarity).

"I've got concrete proof right here that-"

"No," Duchess interrupts, "That's from a long time ago! Why are you _really_ here?"

"I just told you. I'm visiting you," Sparrow explains, not exasperated, but patiently. "Because I was worried when you didn't come to work and I thought it was something I did, so I figured I'd stop by and see if you were okay. And, I brought you flowers, because management said you were sick, so, it was kind of a shot in the dark."

Duchess raises her eyebrows. "You heard I was sick but you showed up to the dance studio anyway?"

"Well," Sparrow says, "In my defense I was going to visit your apartment next if it turned out that you were _actually_ sick."

"So you think I'm a liar," Duchess retorts, eyebrows narrowing.

"To be honest, Princess, it kinda _does_ look like you're a liar," Sparrow grins. "So are you going to tell me the reason why you called in sick to Target?"

Duchess flips her hair over her shoulder. "That's none of your concern."

"But it has to do with me."

"My life doesn't revolve around you," Duchess snaps. "It had _nothing_ to do with you. It was an emergency and I did what I had to do."

"Okay, okay, I get the hint. That doesn't mean that I can't visit you, though, right?" Sparrow asks, like that's completely normal.

"I'd really rather that you didn't," Duchess starts, but then she's aware that Sparrow is taking the flowers from her hands and is replacing them with his own hands, and Duchess flushes. But then she pulls her hands away. "Stop that!"

"Stop _what_?" Sparrow raises his palms up in surrender. "I'm trying to be romantic here."

"That's not romantic at all," Duchess replies, even if she doesn't really mean that. "I have a class to teach, so, if you don't mind-"

He cradles her face in his hands tenderly, but his egotistical smirk rivals his actions so that he seems like a jerk, frankly. He leans forward, like he's about to give her a kiss...

...Duchess stomps on his foot.

A cough sounds from behind them right as Sparrow groans, and Duchess whirls around to face a sheepish Justine.

"Some kids are arriving a bit early today," she brightly says, "And if you aren't too preoccupied in here..."

"Don't worry," Duchess icily answers, "He was _just_ leaving." And she throws Sparrow, who's dramatically acting as if his foot is going to fall off, a dirty glare.

Sparrow straightens and drops the act, though. Duchess knows her ballet shoe hardly did anything to Sparrow with his steel-toe punk rocker boots, so she doesn't feel sorry. What confuses her, though, if how genuine he is when he asks, "What can I do to make you like me?"

Before Duchess can respond, Justine lets the kids in.

And what a relief _that_ is.

"You can start by leaving," Duchess decides, crossing her arms, and is surprised to find that the words come out nicer than she intends for them to be.

"Not until you give me a second date." Sparrow mimics her pose, crossing his arms, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

Duchess hears the faint ruckus of children's giggles, and then the sounds of their feet hitting the floor, as well as Justine's introductory statement. But she's not focused on all that.

She's staring at Sparrow and his goatee and his ridiculous fedora and those horrid fingerless gloves he's always wearing, and she kind of wants to yell at him for holding up her dance class.

And then, after a pregnant pause, "I _suppose_."

Sparrow's face-splitting grin almost makes Duchess want to take it back.

"But I want something better than the first one," Duchess demands, just so that he's aware.

"Trust me," Sparrow says, triumphantly. "It'll be the best date you've ever been on."

Somehow, Duchess doubts that.

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A house party is hardly a place for a supposed best second date ever, and Duchess thinks that Sparrow must be out of his mind, because, to start off, he'd invited her to his house and she'd expected something like dinner, just the two of them, though by the amount of people milling around, she sees that she is mistaken. It's not just his housemates, it's their friends, and oh God, Duchess spots _Faybelle_ , who's gushing about something with Poppy O' Hair's twin ( _Holly_ , Duchess finds out, remembering from last time).

Duchess wants to disappear, and she feels like an idiot, also. She's wearing a soft lavender long sleeved shirt and a long light gray skirt, not anything suitable for a t-shirt and jeans event. Frustrated, she balls her hands into fists and clomps all the way to the front door, practically seething the entire time and wishing that simply walking away wasn't the rudest option.

Because, she's never been _nice_ , but she's not _rude_.

She was invited and therefore had to show up. But, that doesn't mean she can't make an excuse and cut her visit short, which she intends to do as soon as she can.

"Duch _ess_!" Faybelle yells from where she's loitering in the front yard. "I didn't know you were coming!"

Faybelle is likely drunk.

"Neither did I," Duchess flatly responds, and she kicks the grubby welcome mat right in the _welcome_.

The door's not even opened by Sparrow, which figures. She's greeted by one of his bandmates who she doesn't know the name of but for some reason knows _her_ name, and then the inside of the house is so chock-full of people that it's hard to navigate anywhere in the living room or the kitchen.

She sidesteps the entirety of it, scowling, and feeling like an emotionless buzzkill, but who cares? She's already done the _nice_ thing by agreeing to even give Sparrow another chance, or so she tells herself, but then he has to go and ruin it all.

By some chance she ends up by his room again, and so, hesitantly at first, she knocks.

The door drifts open.

" _Hello_?" Duchess asks, annoyance seeped into her greeting, because she fully expects to find Sparrow there seated on his bed, likely with an electric guitar and another of his tacky hats. Instead, the room is dark and unoccupied, and Duchess almost feels sorry for that, but she closes the door and relishes in the muted atmosphere, glad that only minimal sounds from the outward frivolity reach her ears.

Duchess sits down on the bed and takes out her phone, seeing that Faybelle has sent at least seven photos chronologically depicting her time spent with the O' Hair twins, with puckered lips and flower-crown Snapchat filters. It's annoying, frankly, because, shouldn't Faybelle come to find Duchess, in all her so-called religious execution of sisterly solidarity?

But, no matter. Duchess bypasses her messages just to get a glimpse of her social media site apps bunched all together (skipping Snapchat, to avoid Faybelle's obsession with taking selfies with her girlfriend). Just as Twitter loads up on her screen, she hears voices approaching the room, and feeling as if she's guilty of something, she's tempted to hide.

Except...there's nowhere she _can_ hide.

Ducking inside of a closet (yes, a closet, Duchess is aware she's a terrible person, but no matter, she's always known that, because hiding is more agreeable to confrontation in the case that whoever is about to enter the room then wants to know why she's actually inside the room, and Duchess does not want to let it leave her lips that she's looking for _Sparrow_ because that's lame), legs horribly cramped as she hides behind a hamper of clothes, she hears muffled voices stalk into the room.

"I saw her, man," someone is saying as the bedroom door closes. "She was here a minute ago."

A sigh that sounds familiar resonates. "Whatever."

A third voice chimes in with, "So what's up with that? You won her over yet?"

Duchess realizes _why_ that sigh sounded so familiar as Sparrow says, "I'm doing my best, alright? Yeesh. You all act like I've got no game."

Voice #1 states, jokingly, "Yeah, but you've only got two more days and she'd better have changed all her relationship statuses to _in a relationship_ or else you're doing our laundry for three months."

"You don't have to remind me," Sparrow says, and he sounds cocky as he states, "She totally wants this. I'm going to seal the deal tonight."

"You'd better," voice #2 warningly trills, "'cause I've got a shit ton of dirty socks for you, Hood."

Duchess frowns, already connecting the dots in her head, because she's no fool. Going off this, it sounds like...

"Duchess Swan is going to be my girlfriend by tonight, officially," Sparrow announces. "And both of you are going to be kissing my ass."

Duchess's eyes widen. _That rat._

"Whatever you say," voice #1 replies, the smirk evident in his face.

Duchess wonders, then, if it's possible to somehow kill someone and _not_ be convicted of murder, because that seems like a great skill to have.

Eventually, Sparrow's voice- and the voices of his co-conspirators- die down. Only when the door closes does Duchess emerge from the closet, very mad, not to mention obscenely riled and plotting revenge.

The _idiot_ had been stringing her along as part of some dumb bet.

Duchess marches out of the room and storms through the throngs of people gathered in the common areas, but doesn't find Sparrow anywhere. By the time she _does_ find him, though, her anger is far from quenched, lucky for her and unlucky for him.

Sparrow is seated in the backyard, alone, in a patio chair, staring up at the sky, hat gone and a pensive look on his face.

He spots Duchess, who doesn't disguise her frown.

"Hey," he says, and his lips split into a smile. He offers her a single flower, outstretched, as if that'll fix everything she's overheard. "I didn't know where you were so I figured-"

Duchess stares at the offending flower for a second or two and then her frown is back full force and she snaps, "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Unladylike, and cursing, both things Duchess is not.

Sparrow's grin slips off his face. "What?"

"I know about your dumb bet," Duchess snarls, and bats away his flower offer. "Did you bet a few douchebags 'I can make this girl go out with me in a week'? What is this, _She's All That_?"

"I have no idea what that means," Sparrow says, in reference to the movie title, but his face is shell shocked. "Listen, Duchess, I never meant for it to..."

"Don't _bother_ talking to me again," Duchess enunciates, clearly, hard to keep her temper in line. "Don't even try to _text_ me, or- _mfph_!"

He kisses her hard to cut her off, desperately, lips clumsy against hers, his hands tangling in her hair, but it only lasts for a second before Duchess pushes him away so he won't try again.

"I'm sorry," Sparrow starts, quickly, before Duchess can explode. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want-"

"Don't think you have to _lie_ about it," Duchess says, and she crosses her arms snidely. "I heard everything. You can enjoy your three months as a personal laundry machine because I wouldn't date you if you were the last person on this side of the earth."

Sparrow's face falls. "I swear that I never meant-"

"So you're saying you _didn't_ make the bet." Duchess raises her eyebrows challengingly.

Sparrow's gaze drops to the floor as he mumbles, "No, I did."

Duchess almost feels sad for a split second (gross) before she turns on her heel. "Good _bye_." And, just before she leaves, hovering in the doorway, she rudely states, "By the way, this is the worst date I've ever been on. In case you need a reference for the next girl you lie to."

"I was _wrong_ , Duchess," Sparrow tries to add in before she leaves. "I made a mistake!"

"So did I. The _mistake_ was agreeing to go on a date with you in the first place."

And then she's gone, just like that.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Duchess throws herself into dance with a fervor she hasn't felt in so long. Her feet pad along the polished wooden floors of the dance studio, a sheen of sweat on her face and her heavy breathing the accompaniment to one of Mozart's works. Every leap, twirl, plié, and pirouette feels like a dream come true, her muscles exhausted but so alive.

As she whirls and whirls to the ending of the song, the surrounding mirrors and barres a blur, she practically misses Justine loitering in the doorway, and with closed eyes, Duchess is only torn out of her stupor when Justine clears her throat.

"It's late," Justine explains, apologetically, to Duchess's wide-eyed glare, "And I'm supposed to close up. Did you want to stay later? I could give you the keys."

"No," Duchess says, startled, and looks up at the wall clock above the mirror, surprised to see that it marks just past midnight. "I didn't realize."

"It's okay." Beaming, Justine comes closer to her. "You dance beautifully."

Duchess frowns. "I know that."

Justine's smile doesn't waver. "I haven't seen you dancing much lately. At least, not in the studio."

Duchess self-consciously bends over to pick up her dance bag. "I've got stuff to do. Whatever."

Justine isn't put off by Duchess's comments just yet. "I know the feeling." After a pause, she adds, "I'm always here if you want to talk."

"I've noticed," Duchess can't help snidely saying, but she simmers a moment later. "Thanks."

"Is it about your boyfriend?"

"He's not my-" Duchess starts her sentence angrily, but she trails off, because it's been days since she'd seen Sparrow, not since their disastrous second date, with him even resigning from his retail job in a way that made her feel slightly guilty but not sorry enough to call him up. "He's nobody."

Justine doesn't quite believe her, and she leans against the wall of mirrors. "Do you know Melody Piper?"

Duchess raises her eyebrow. "The DJ."

Justine fondly laughs. "Yeah, her."

"What about her?"

Justine smiles, or, rather, she's still smiling, but it seems to get brighter at the thought of Melody. "We've been dating for two years now, but I broke up with her for a few days last month."

"What does that have to do with-"

"I told her," Justine interjects, "That she should stop playing gigs at bars and frat parties and all that, because I was jealous that she always got a lot of attention. She got mad and accused me of inherently implying her profession wasn't suitable. Which, you know, wasn't my point because she was misreading my words into something they weren't, even though I fully supported her working as a DJ."

Duchess sighs. "Justine, if you've got a point to this, maybe you should make it."

"She broke up with me." Justine admits, but she's not grim, rather, she's laughing, and it must strike her as funny now. "And I thought that maybe I should move on, because I convinced myself that if I was getting jealous it was because I didn't trust Melody enough."

"And?" Duchess prompts.

"And when she came to my apartment to get her things back, I told her I was being selfish, and told her about my jealousy. We agreed to move on, and forgive each other, but mainly, I learned to trust her." Justine knowingly grins.

"What does that have to do with me?" Duchess crosses her arms, annoyed that this life lesson/worldly advice makes no sense.

"Maybe you should just try and understand the boyfriend who _isn't_ your boyfriend," Justine suggests. "Communication is important in a relationship."

"We were never in an actual-"

"Duchess," Justine interrupts, but then smooths that over with another of her kind smiles, "Promise you'll think about it. Making amends. Or- getting closure."

Duchess huffs. "Yeah, sure."

And she doesn't intend on keeping the promise, but- the next day, after she's walked home alone to find that Lizzie is gone as she usually is and Faybelle is who knows where...Duchess wonders what's become of him.

And she opens up her contact list, finding Sparrow's number listed under the name 'annoyance'. (she's proud of that, though)

Texting would be easier, but- less personal. Duchess's finger hovers over the messaging app for approximately ten seconds before she musters the courage to bypass it for the call button.

When it rings, she has to sit on her other hand to stop herself from hanging up, even though it's been ringing and ringing with no answer.

" _Yo, it's Sparrow. You know what to do at the beep!_ " Sure enough, accompanied with guitar riffs, the answerphone leads to a beep. Duchess almost hangs up there, because, he's a jerk for not answering her call in the first place. But- Justine has a point on making amends. Or closure. Or...whatever.

"Hey," she says, almost nervously, "It's Duchess." She pauses. "You probably knew that. You have caller ID...that's not why I called you! I think that maybe some of the things I said to you were harsh. But don't take that as an apology, because I meant every word and I'm not taking them back."

The downstairs neighbors start playing music that is so loud, it feels as if she's in the same room as them, and she winces, wishing that she'd have gotten an apartment in the second floor rather than the third one, because it sounds as if there's a radio blaring right outside her patio door.

"Sorry. Some idiot is playing their music really loud- I just wanted to see if you were interested in meeting up sometime. For coffee. To talk about what happe- _ugh_ , hold on, this music is too loud and I'm going to yell down to the neighbors."

Duchess storms to the patio area of her apartment, pulls the polyester curtains aside, and screams when she sees that there is, in fact, a radio in her backyard (well, that and a guitar amp) accompanied none other than Sparrow Hood himself.

Duchess yanks the door open. "How did _you_ get here?" she yells, over his ruckus. Sparrow turns it down, but Duchess keeps yelling anyway. "You're trespassing! On my property!"

"Hello to you, too," Sparrow says, and tilts the brim of one of his tacky fedoras at her, Duchess noticing that he's trekked out in horrid fingerless gloves, a leather vest, and a button up with a tie, the weirdest choice of outfits she's seen.

"How did you get here?" Duchess repeats, giving him the stink eye.

"Climbed up the fire escape to give an element of surprise. I wasn't sure on which apartment you were in, so, I've been doing this all night. Pretty sure your neighbor, that old balding man with the potbelly, is deaf, because he tried to throw a newspaper at me when I sang him the Boys II Men song ' _I'll make love to you_ '."

Duchess snorts, and she ducks her head, not willing to let him see her laughing, because if she looks up she'll see that he's smiling about making her laugh. "You're such a loser."

"I wish I could say I'm joking. I've seriously been serenading all the apartments on the third floor." Sparrow's guitar, slung around his torso, is carefully pried off and set aside, and he steps closer to Duchess. "I wanted to apologize."

Duchess thinks of the recording she's sent on his phone, but then she straightens and masks her face into one of indifference. "I'm listening."

"I messed up," Sparrow admits, genuinely. "I did. That day I was playing at Briar's party, when you came over, my crew started ribbing me saying I couldn't get you to go out with me, loser got three months of laundry duty."

Duchess crosses her arms. "Obviously you lost."

"Yeah, but, I don't care about that dumb bet. I care about you," Sparrow says, so perfectly honest that Duchess almost gapes (if she hadn't caught herself in time). He colors and rubs the back of his neck. "Lame, right?"

"Obviously." But Duchess lets herself smile, just a little.

"Anyway, Princess-" Sparrow holds out a hand- "Is there any way you'd forgive me?"

She doesn't take it. Not yet. Instead she clicks the end call button on her cellphone and replies, "Maybe."

When his face lights up in a huge grin, Duchess raises her pointer finger to squash his assumptions.

"But that doesn't mean you can date me," she insists. "And I hate those fedoras you wear."

"Duchess," Sparrow tries to add in.

"-and your gloves. Actually, your goatee makes you look old, and-"

" _Duchess_."

"The length of your hair could actually use some work-"

" _Duchess_ ," Sparrow repeats, finally grabbing her hand, stressing her name impatiently, while making Duchess blush uncontrollably, "Can you shut up for once?"

And when he kisses her, it's slow, and steady, as if there's only the two of them and time has stopped. His arms encircle her waist gently, she grabs onto the lapels of his vest, pulling him closer, and then his fingertips are rubbing circles onto her back, the material of her lavender colored jumper gripped in his hands. She deepens the kiss, and he starts to smile against her lips, and she almost laughs, because he detaches himself from her mouth to press kisses on her nose, on her cheeks, nuzzling her face like an eager puppy before she manages to shove him away.

"We're not dating," she reminds him, but lets him steal another drawn-out kiss nonetheless.

He just grins.

"Whatever you say, Princess."


End file.
